Espionage
by fakiagirl
Summary: Alfred Jones, CIA. Arthur Kirkland, MI6. Two high-level agents who know about each other only what can be said over the phone - but even secure lines can be compromised. They've been working together for years when something goes horribly wrong.
1. Espionage

_Espionage_

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><p><em>Author's note: <em>This chapter is a oneshot. Following chapters are ficlets from the same universe. Enjoy. :)

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><p>"There's a bomb threat on a flight from LAX to Heathrow."<p>

A sigh on the other end of the line, a sound so familiar it made Alfred's heart sigh a little in response. "Buy off all the seats, or try to catch them?"

Alfred twirled a pen between his fingers. "I think I can catch 'em."

"Think or know?" Arthur said dryly. "This isn't something I'm willing to leave to chance." _Chance: _Alfred could never get used to that English accent.

"Don't you trust me?" Alfred asked with a grin. He knew Arthur would be able to hear it in his voice.

"Trust you? You're American."

Alfred snorted. "Come on, my coworkers might screw you over, but I wouldn't."

"It's not just your coworkers, it's your entire system." Arthur sighed again, heavily this time. Alfred sometimes wondered if Arthur was higher up in MI6 than he let on – or if he just took his job way more seriously than Alfred did. (It wasn't that Alfred didn't take his job seriously; it was that he didn't take the _paperwork _part of it seriously. In his opinion, that wasn't really his job anyway. You didn't train to be a secret agent so you could file papers all day, even if they were top secret.)

"People not giving you the documents they're supposed to?" Alfred stifled a yawn.

"That file for the case we're working on right now? If I'd had it two days ago, I could have actually _done _something. I had to drop a lead because I couldn't confirm it. Every time I ask where it is, they tell me they'll send it soon by express mail. _Soon. _Do you know how useless that is?"

Alfred grinned. "Lettin' your anal side show through, Artie. Be more relaxed about it. It's not that time sensitive."

"Of course it's time sensitive!" Arthur groused. "We asked for your cooperation on it for a reason!"

"I'd help you if I could," Alfred said not very apologetically.

"Any information on the primary mission?"

Alfred shook his head. "Nope. Haven't heard anything from HQ in a while either. I'm wondering if they're going to drop it."

"They had better not. Inform them they should stop stalling. We worked on this case for years before you joined in."

Alfred snorted. "You're the ones who asked for our help."

"Because we assumed you'd give it."

"I'm giving it," Alfred pointed out.

The slightest of pauses. "I suppose you've been tolerable to work with." There was the sound of papers being shuffled. "So, can you catch them or not?" Arthur demanded, returning abruptly to the original reason for the call.

Alfred glanced at the files spread out on his desk. "Yes. We have several suspects, and security will be extra tight."

"Good," Arthur said, sounding satisfied. There was a slight pause and Alfred could tell he was going to say something else. "I do trust you," he said finally.

"Thanks," Alfred said. He smiled. "I trust you too, Arthur."

"Goodbye, Alfred."

Alfred hung up on the man he only knew as Arthur, whom he had spoken to at least twice a month for the last three years. In the last year and a half, the calls had gotten a lot more frequent. Still, he knew little more about Arthur than that he was a high-level agent of MI6, liked cats, drank tea, and was English. It was unfortunate, really. He seemed like a nice guy.

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><p>"Important lead on primary mission." Arthur's voice was firm and clear. "Primary suspect spotted O-400 hours, leaving a shop across from the suspected manufacturing plant."<p>

"Gottchya." Alfred quickly jotted it down. "That's what we needed. I'm gonna move in."

"If those are your orders," Arthur said crisply.

Alfred sighed. "I know you don't like it, but this is enough. If we wait any longer we're going to lose it."

"I know," Arthur snapped. "Just . . . be careful."

Alfred smiled. "I will."

* * *

><p>"Bad news," Alfred said slowly into the phone. He doodled on the notepad in front of him. He hated having to tell Arthur stuff like this.<p>

"Hmm?" Arthur said encouragingly. His voice buzzed over the phone line.

Alfred made a face. "Lost the lead. We're back to square one."

Arthur made an exasperated noise. Alfred's mouth twitched a little in amusement. He had no idea what Arthur looked like when he made that noise, but he imagined it had to be adorable. "Alfred–" Arthur started, but he gave up with a sigh. "Alright. Nothing we can do. We'll pull everyone out."

"We at least know where it's not," Alfred said, trying to point out the (admittedly not very) bright side of things.

"Thank you so much for narrowing it down," Arthur said dryly. "I'll be sure to send teams out to everywhere else we think it might not be, just to check."

"Uh-huh. Don't ask me to apply to the higher-ups for teams to help you, though. I hear we're booked checking all the ducks around here to see if any of them are spying for other countries."

Arthur snorted. "Maybe you should check the people first."

"Nope. Agents like you and I are going to be outdated soon, Artie. We're all going to be replaced by–"

"Robot ducks?"

"I was going to say remote-controlled mini helicopters, but that works too."

Arthur chuckled. The noise was deep and warm over the line. Alfred grinned. He wished he could hear it in person.

"You know, when we've been replaced," Arthur began, "We should–"

"Retire somewhere and never apply for a job involving the words 'secret agent' again? Because this is seriously way more boring that what I signed up for."

"I was going to say go out for lunch."

There was an awkward pause. "Oh," Alfred said, hoping it didn't sound as squeaky as he thought it did. "Yeah. That would be nice."

There was a frantic noise of paper shuffling. "It's just, well, we've known each other for so long–"

"Right, we're practically friends already and I still have no idea what you look like." Alfred laughed, though it was too high pitched and too short.

"Friends go out to lunch all the time," Arthur agreed. Alfred repeatedly clicked a clicky pen while Arthur drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, I should–"

"Go see about that report, yeah. Bye."

"Goodbye."

Alfred groaned and put his face in his hands after he hung up. "Thanks for giving me something to look forward to that _can never happen,_" Alfred muttered to the black, government-issued phone. He puffed out his cheeks and let the air out in a rush. Sometimes he almost hated his job.

(Okay, that was a lie. Sometimes he wished he hated his job. It was the best part of his life.)

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><p>"You know that lead we lost?"<p>

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Turns out we found it again."

Arthur paused. "Are you sure?"

"Yup!" Alfred was ecstatic. "The plant went back online yesterday. We're sending in a team to check this afternoon."

"Alfred, that sounds like a trap," Arthur warned. "Wait for confirmation. If you wait until tomorrow, I can send some men–"

"Nah Artie, don't do that. I got this."

"This is a high-level mission," Arthur insisted. "I know it seems too good to be true, but that's because _it is._"

"Look," Alfred said seriously, "If there's any chance this is the real thing, I have to take it. You understand that, right? No matter the risk. I let down a bunch of people the other day. I can't do that again."

Arthur pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. He hated how worried he got. It was just a mission, it was just _Alfred. _This was what they both did for a living. Was it so hard to accept that? "Just . . . be careful."

"I will. Bye, Artie."

"I mean it, Alfred–" But Alfred had already hung up.

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><p>Arthur smirked when the phone rang. Only one person called him on this line, and that was Alfred. He picked it up. "Hey, you'll never guess–"<p>

"Line's compromised," Alfred's voice interrupted, hard and desperate like nothing Arthur had ever heard before. "Get out now." Before Arthur could react, the line went dead.

_The line is compromised:_ Not just this line, this time, but this line all the time. Everything they had ever said to each other had been listened to.

_Get out now:_ Destroy everything you can get your hands on, pull out any agents you can, and for God's sake, leave everyone in deep cover where they are.

That Alfred had hung up immediately: He was already compromised. If they didn't have him already, they would soon.

"Fuck," said Arthur and dropped the phone. By the time the phone hit the desk, he was already out of his chair.

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><p>The room was small and box-like. Its walls were painted a harsh white. The florescent lights shone unrelentingly on the very few pieces of furniture in the room. There was a drying splatter of blood on one wall. Alfred tried very hard not to look at it.<p>

Torture. He'd been trained in how to resist it, of course, but even that had given him nightmares for days. He had never been so terrified in his life. _Don't give them anything. _That was all he needed to do. Rescue – probably out of the question. He didn't know how long he'd been gone, but before he had left he hadn't had enough time to do more than destroy his part of the information. It was doubtful anyone knew where he was. _Don't think about it._ After all, he was here now, and he was just going to have to deal with it.

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><p>Time had stopped mattering a long time ago. It was only the things that happened that mattered. He opened his eyes a crack. He could hear yelling, somewhere, and distant banging . . . That certainly qualified as something. There were gunshots, the sound of a small explosion, and someone kicked the door open. Suddenly the room was swarming with people. Bullets ricocheted off the walls. Alfred would have tried to help if he hadn't felt like someone had broken his arm and then given him a bunch of drugs that were doing nothing to help with the pain.<p>

Oh right, someone had.

Eventually the gunfire was replaced with the occasional shout and quick, barked orders. Someone yelled, "Secure the door!" in a crisp voice with an English accent that was strangely familiar. Alfred vaguely hoped that someone was going to tell him what was going on, because they had taken his glasses away some time ago and all he could see was blurry shapes. Some of them looked dead.

Suddenly someone was in front of him, undoing the straps that secured him to the chair with deft, strong hands. Alfred looked up into a pair of gorgeous green eyes. The person they belonged to was scowling, but that didn't keep Alfred from feeling like he was falling in love. "What's an angel like you doing in a hell like this?" he slurred, because it seemed like the right thing to say at the time.

Green eyes locked with his for an instant, and then the man gave an exasperated noise and returned to his task. "Dear God, he's gone around the bend. He's really flirting with me." Alfred felt the last strap fall away. The man turned his head so all Alfred could see was messy blond hair. "Someone help me lift him up." Alfred felt two pairs of arms hook under his armpits and drag him upwards. One of them bumped into his broken arm. That was about the last thing Alfred remembered.

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><p>When Alfred opened his eyes, he was in a neat, clean hospital bed. He was groggy and exhausted. He felt as though he'd overslept and would never be able to fully wake up. His arm ached, though he didn't know why, and his mouth felt awful. He turned his head and saw a cup of water. When he tried to pick it up with his right hand he nearly passed out. Eventually, he was able to pick it up with his other hand and take a sip. He was definitely on an IV, his right arm was in a cast, and there was a heart rate monitor beeping along merrily to his left. Huh.<p>

Sometime later, an orderly came in to check on him and found him sitting up, experimenting with how much he could move his broken arm before his eyes teared up from the pain. He was promptly given a sling and told that yes, he had fractured several bones (or rather, someone had fractured them for him) and no, he couldn't take the cast off himself, that day or ever.

Once Alfred had been given something to eat and the opportunity to clean himself up and dress in a suit (one of his – apparently someone had thought about this, he thought idly), he was told that his presence had been requested at a briefing. Immediately. When he stepped into the room, he found two people waiting for him: his boss and the man with the green eyes. Alfred's eyes rested on the latter for much longer than was necessary. The man looked back at him, and a smirk slowly revealed itself on his features. Alfred grinned in response. There was no way he could have mistaken this guy for an angel, he thought; his eyebrows were impossible to get past.

"Alfred, sit down," his boss said. "Glad to see you looking better."

"Thank you, sir," Alfred replied. He sat on the last remaining chair and casually crossed his legs. The man with the green eyes was rivaling his casual attitude with one elbow on the arm of his chair, a tilt to his shoulders that spoke of absolute relaxation, and crossed legs. It looked perfectly natural. Alfred knew he held his head too cockily for his pose to look completely relaxed, but he didn't care. He grinned.

"Alfred," his boss continued, gesturing to the man with the green eyes, "This is agent Kirkland. I believe you have been communicating with him for some years now."

This information surprised Alfred less than his boss had probably expected. He had assumed this was Arthur the moment he had heard his voice. However, the name did surprise him; after having known him only as Arthur for so long, it was strange to hear his last name – though whether it was real or an alias was impossible to tell with these people. Alfred grinned and inclined his head. "Arthur."

"Alfred," Arthur returned amusedly.

"Agent Jones," Alfred corrected him with a wink.

Alfred's boss waved a hand dismissively. "He already knows all about you, Alfred," he said. "He was surprisingly adept at getting us to surrender all our files on you when he told us you had been compromised."

Alfred laughed. "How'd he find me? You tell him that too?"

"No. It wasn't easy," Arthur muttered.

"Where was I, anyway?" Alfred asked curiously. "Even _I _don't know that."

Arthur smirked. "I can't tell you. That's top secret information."

Alfred's jaw dropped. "What? But we have the same level of clearance!"

"Not anymore," Alfred's boss said dryly. "Agent Kirkland got a promotion in the last day and a half while you were sleeping."

"36 hours?" Alfred looked around so fast he nearly hurt his neck. "No way."

"32," Arthur corrected. "We were worried you were going to go into a coma."

Alfred looked surprised. "I wouldn't–"

Alfred's boss cleared his throat. "And I am certain you would like to go back to sleeping. I do apologize for calling you here so soon after you woke up, but there are important matters to discuss." He steepled his fingers. "Alfred," he said quietly, "How much did you tell them?"

Everyone in the room abruptly became much more serious. Alfred sat back and kept his face carefully blank. "Nothing that I recall."

"Nothing?" Alfred's boss leaned forward. "I'm sorry for having to ask, but I need to be certain. You understand that."

"Of course." Alfred looked away. "I can't . . . I just can't remember everything. I'm sorry. But as far as I know, I said nothing." He worried his lip as the room remained silent. He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them. He looked back at his boss. It was easier than looking at Arthur. "How long was I gone?"

"18 hours."

Alfred's heart sank. He supposed he remembered maybe half of that, though it was almost impossible to tell. That was a long time. He looked at Arthur and tried to crack a smile. "Geez, Artie, what took you so long?"

Arthur avoided his eyes. "You didn't give me much to go on, you dolt," he said quietly.

Alfred's laugh was strained. "I didn't give you anything to go on." Something occurred to him. His smile fell. "Actually, I didn't even tell you I had been compromised."

"You think I wouldn't be able to tell?" Arthur said it with a short chuckle, but there was something pained in his eyes as he looked at Alfred. "After three years, you thought I'd take a 'get out now' at face value?"

Alfred frowned. "Yes. They tracked me just from that phone call and they might've tracked you too. I only risked it because they would have been able to track you down anyway, and I wanted you to have a head start."

It was Arthur's turn to frown. "You let them track you? Are you an idiot? I thought they already had you."

"Practically!"

Arthur uncrossed his legs. His shoulders had gone tense. "Risking the safety of yourself and your entire team in order to help a team across the _Atlantic Ocean _is hardly protocol."

"I had the time, I knew I was as good as caught anyway. You really think I'd let them get to you?" Alfred demanded. He hadn't been thinking at the time, he had just _known _that it was the right thing to do. Why didn't Arthur understand that?

Arthur's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but before he could say anything, Alfred's boss interrupted. "Regardless of how it happened, we're glad to have you back," he said firmly. "You'll be off duty for a while and you'll go through counseling. If your memories can be retrieved, they will be." He put a hand on Alfred's shoulder, the first physical contact Alfred had had since walking into the room. "I know 18 hours is a long time," he said quietly. "We don't blame you for anything that could have happened. We can wait. I just wanted to see if there was anything you could tell us now."

Alfred shook his head. He didn't trust himself to speak. That they wouldn't blame him: that was a lie. If he had gone through all that for nothing, if he had given it up in the end, he would blame himself a thousand times over. What if he had given up Arthur? He didn't even know. Maybe he had. That was the worst part. He looked down at his lap and realized his hands were shaking. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. They couldn't have gotten to Arthur because Arthur was here. Arthur was fine. But what if they were waiting for him, what if when he got back . . .

"Alfred." A voice so familiar there wasn't anything Alfred could do but look up. Arthur was leaning towards him and looking at him intently. "You're safe now. The information doesn't matter. If it's gone, it's gone." Alfred let a breath out in a _woosh _and took another in preparation to say something angry. Arthur, however, just kept talking. "We can deal with the aftermath. We do what it takes. That's our job. Right?"

Alfred smiled thinly. "Right."

"That's all, then," Alfred's boss said.

They all stood. Alfred was the first to turn to leave. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, Artie," he said, "By the way, that was most careless op I've ever seen. You tell me to be careful, but seriously? Storming a place like that?" He snorted. "You could have been killed."

He heard the soft voice as he left: "So could you."

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><p>Arthur stayed for a few days longer than he was strictly supposed to. Alfred kept expecting someone to tell him that Arthur had left, but every time he asked he got the same answer: "Oh, he and the boss are just finishing up some paperwork." Alfred finally stopped waiting and went to see him.<p>

Arthur was alone in a conference room with the remains of a meeting spread out before him. He was frowning at the paper in a way that made Alfred want to laugh. He settled for a smile and leaned casually in the doorway. "You know, you aren't like what I expected," Alfred said after a moment.

Arthur didn't even bother to look up. "Oh? What were you expecting, then?"

Alfred thought for a moment. "Sweater vests," he said finally. "And loafers." Arthur looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. Alfred looked pointedly at his lace-up, doubtless custom-made Italian leather shoes. "Frankly, your choice in shoes is just too good."

Arthur laughed. It was infinitely more wonderful than over the phone. "This is my work outfit. For all you know, I wear exactly that when I'm at home."

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "Do you?"

Arthur smirked. "I'm not telling."

Alfred tried to look thoughtful. "So that's what you wear when you drink tea. And pet your cat. And read romance novels."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the last one. "How'd you know?"

Alfred grinned. "Wild guess. Bodice-rippers, am I right?"

Arthur blushed up to the tips of his ears. "Don't be daft. I wouldn't read that rubbish." Alfred laughed. Arthur started smiling, and then laughing, and pretty soon Alfred was laughing so hard he was crying. "It really wasn't that funny," Arthur protested when he finally caught his breath.

"It's just – the image!" Alfred gasped out. "Like – a little old lady!"

Arthur turned bright red all over again. "Like a perverted old lady, apparently!" he cried indignantly. "I wouldn't!"

Alfred snorted. "You _would_."

"You don't know that!"

Alfred grinned and took a step forward. Somehow, they had ended up only a few feet apart. "But I know _you_."

Arthur huffed and looked away. "Hardly."

"Three years."

"And a half," Arthur reminded him. There was a pause as they looked at each other.

"Three years, seven months, and, uh, ten days."

"You're making that up," Arthur accused.

Alfred grinned sheepishly. "Just the days. I can never remember if I first talked to you on the 12th or the 21st."

Arthur smiled a little. "I hope your memory is usually better than that, agent Jones. A detail like that could be the difference between life and death."

"Oh, my decisions always mean the difference between life and death." Alfred stretched casually. "And I do an excellent job, if I do say so myself."

"Best of the best," Arthur agreed.

"Cream of the, uh, not cream."

Arthur cracked a smile. "I think it's _crème de la crème._"

Alfred waggled his eyebrows. "Ooo, the secret agent knows French. I bet it gets you all of the ladies."

Arthur gave Alfred a knowing glance. Alfred grinned. "Of course," Arthur said, which meant almost exactly the opposite.

Alfred put his hands in his pockets. "I suppose we won't be chatting over the phone anymore. You kinda ruined the whole not-supposed-to-reveal-each-other's-identities thing when you rescued me, you know."

Arthur stopped smiling and looked down at his papers. "I know." For a moment he looked as though he were going to say something more, but then he just shook his head.

"Geez, Artie, for a second there I thought you were going to apologize for saving my life." Alfred grinned and patted him heartily on the back. "Personally, I'm actually pretty happy about it. You know, being alive."

Arthur smiled a little but drummed his fingers on the table. "We'll probably both be taken off our current cases."

Alfred shrugged. "I'll talk to the old man, see what I can do. There's gotta be stuff that's just as confidential that we can talk about in code or something, right?"

Arthur smirked at him. "You should work on getting that promotion, then. You're not cleared to work on the cases I'll be taking."

"They're just waiting for me to recover, duh." Alfred grinned. "Hey, when are you leaving anyway?"

"Probably tomorrow afternoon." Arthur gathered up his papers and tapped them into a nice stack. "Speaking, of I should get going."

"Oh. Yeah." Alfred's face fell and he looked away.

Arthur started for the door and then paused. "You know, I think I might have some time in my schedule tomorrow at, say, noon?" He looked at Alfred and raised an eyebrow with a smile. "What do you say about that lunch?"

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><p>It was funny how things worked. They didn't know each other's favorite colors, or where they lived, or what their childhoods had been like. They didn't know their favorite foods or their dream vacation. What they did know was how to make each other laugh, how they felt just by the sound of their voice, how they acted under pressure, and that they could keep secrets. They knew each other already. And really, to fall in love, do you need to know anything else?<p>

They had time. They followed each other up, promotion by promotion, so they were nearly always on the same cases. They were both busy and had tight schedules, but they understood that. Meetings in person were few and far between, but they were all the more wonderful for it. Sometimes one of them have to go on a mission and they wouldn't be able to speak for a month or more. They worried, and they had hard times, but they survived it all.

The funny thing was, by the time they got to the point where they could retire, they didn't want to anymore. They wanted to keep doing what they were doing, working together and in the service of their countries. Maybe one of them applied to work for his country on foreign soil, and maybe they bought a little house together. If they did, it was kept a secret, of course; what government could possibly allow it? But they didn't mind keeping it a secret; they were used to doing that. After all, that was their job.

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><p><em>Author's note: <em>This was vaguely inspired by _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, _which, by the way, was a great movie. You know Benedict Cumberbatch from BBC's _Sherlock _and Colin Firth from everything awesome? Both in it and both totally adorable. :D


	2. July 12

_Author's note: _This story was originally a oneshot, but have a ficlet or two. :) These are all from the same universe.

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><p><em>July 12<em>

When Alfred first started working for the CIA, he knew exactly where he wanted to go. He was given a lot of paperwork, but he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life checking reports and filing information on the mortgages of high-profile citizens. No, he was going to be a secret agent.

It didn't take all that long, really. The basics came first: learning how to parse information, some weapons training, how to deal with uncooperative people. A lot of it he had learned already; calling the CIA "the agency" was second-nature, and never telling the whole truth unless prompted was something even he was able to master. By the time he was cleared as a field agent, he had gone through so many background checks he had stopped worrying about them, and he had also stopped bothering with a social life. His background was as clean as could be, and he didn't like worrying all the time about how his relationships fit into the picture. His time was rapidly becoming devoted to the agency and sleeping, anyway; he didn't have space in his life for anything else.

He wasn't expecting to be lonely. He had his coworkers, after all, who were fun to work with (for the most part). He and his friends outside of work had been drifting away since college. He'd dated a little since then, but none of it had gotten very serious. He wasn't really going to be losing all that much. Being a field agent made him glad he didn't have anyone waiting for him. He never knew when he was going to get called in and he often collected odd injuries that would have been difficult to explain away. As he got better, the missions got harder and required all of his attention. But after a couple years, he discovered that he was lonely. Not horribly lonely, but he needed someone in his life he could connect with, someone to really talk to. He didn't realize this until the first time he heard Arthur's voice.

"Alfred, you're making to be a fine field agent, but we have another job we need you to do. You've shown yourself to be loyal and good at working with others, even when you don't agree with them. I'm making you an intelligence communications officer."

Alfred stared at his boss. He licked his lips carefully. "Uh, what does that entail? Sir."

"Well, you'll sit at a desk and talk to an agent from MI6. We've been engineering a lot of cooperative missions lately, and we need a more direct line of communication than the bureaucratic bullshit we've been dealing with." His boss smiled, inviting Alfred to join in the joke.

Alfred smiled back weakly, trying to hide his disappointment. A desk job? Hadn't he worked this hard to escape from that? "Are you sure . . . this is best for me, sir?"

"Agent Jones, you can decide that for yourself. Come on, I'll show you to your desk."

Alfred got his own room, with a door that locked. It was empty except for a desk, a chair, an empty bookshelf, and a black telephone. His boss threw a file on the desk before sitting down and picking up the telephone. Before he dialed, however, he looked at Alfred. "Now, you'll be known only as 'Alfred,' and don't reveal any personal information, you hear? Same goes for your contact, so don't ask." Alfred nodded and his boss dialed the number.

"Hello. Yes. Yes, he's here." His boss gestured Alfred over. "Alright. You too. Yes, hello agent. I'm about to introduce you to him right now. Just wanted to check everything was okay on your end. Alright. Here he is." His boss thrust the phone at Alfred, who cradled it against his chest. His boss stood and patted the file. "Check with him if we've got the same info on that case. Oh, and you'll need to get your own writing implement. Sorry, don't have the money for them at the moment." He laughed and clapped Alfred on the back. "See you in an hour, agent."

"Yessir," Alfred replied. When his boss had closed the door, Alfred sat down and put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Ah, hello. Is this Alfred?"

"Yup." Alfred didn't know why he was surprised to hear a British accent on the other end of the line; his boss had said MI6, after all. "Uh, sorry, I didn't catch your name."

The man cleared his throat awkwardly. "It's Arthur."

Alfred smiled. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Yes." The word was short and clipped, as though he didn't know what to say. There was the rustling sound of papers being moved. "So, do you have your file on the Hilbrooke case?"

"Uh, yeah, right here." Alfred looked at the manilla folder and saw that there was a sticky note on the front. It said "_Burn after memorized," _followed by a phone number. Alfred read it through a few times. So that was where he could reach Arthur.

"So, I have here a list of known safe houses . . ."

"Okay." Alfred flipped open the folder and skimmed the first page. Arthur read the list out to him and he compared it to his own. _Ruzomberok, Slovakia . . . Miskolc, Hungary . . . _Arthur's voice rolled over him, turning the names of the foreign cities into something almost familiar. An hour and a half later, when they had gone through both their files, Alfred didn't find himself missing his field job in the least. In fact, when he walked out of his new office, he felt happier than he had in weeks. He had no idea why, since he and Arthur hadn't exchanged more than a few words that weren't strictly related to business.

"So, it's like dinnertime over there, right? Are you going home for dinner?" Alfred asked, not just wanting to hang up.

"Oh no, my dinner break isn't for a few hours yet. I have – well, things to do." A sigh.

Alfred smiled. "Well, good luck with whatever it is."

"Thanks. Have – well, a nice rest of your day, I suppose."

Alfred grinned. "Will do. You too, Arthur. I'll talk to you later."


	3. Filing Cabinets

_Filing Cabinets_

Arthur walked into the office, the heels of his leather shoes clicking against the floor. "Mr. Kirkland, a call for you," said someone, and he was handed a telephone.

Arthur stopped and nodded his thanks before holding the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Arthur, I wanted to know how your work with that American agent has been going."

"Oh, it's going well, I think. They had a lot more information on several of the cases than we expected."

"How has it been working with him? I hear he's an ex-field agent, like you."

Arthur absently curled the phone wire around his finger. "He's nice. Er, cooperative," he corrected quickly; he supposed his superiors didn't particularly care about how friendly Alfred was and how he always made an effort to make Arthur feel at ease. "He's also very . . . enthusiastic about his job, but that's good, I suppose." He sighed. Alfred's constant energy wore on him sometimes.

"He won't be a problem?"

"No."

"Good. I'll leave you to it then."

"Goodbye."

Arthur handed the phone back and walked the short distance to his own office. They had given him a nice one, complete with bookshelves. He had already moved in a selection of books, though they were mostly for appearances. Everything he truly loved remained in his home.

He closed the door and sat down at his desk. Alfred was supposed to initiate the call this time, so Arthur opened a file of paperwork with a sigh. He browsed through it, dropping the things that could wait into the metal filing cabinet.

Fifteen minutes later, Alfred still hadn't called.

Arthur frowned at the phone on his desk. It was black, like all the standard-issue ones were, and glossy and new. Arthur knew it was plugged in because he always checked, just out of habit. _Give it half an hour before you worry, _he told himself. Arthur was famous for his instinct, but Alfred set him off balance. After their first phone call, Arthur had been sure Alfred was fresh out of basic training and too green to be placed in such an important position. After he had asked, his boss had gotten back to him and informed him that Alfred had "several years of serious work in the field" under his belt, which was about the most they could tell him. Arthur also knew he had a tendency to underestimate the CIA, and it was very possible someone had recommended him for the job because it might correct his biases – or at least make sure he didn't raise the alarm unless it was something truly important.

Arthur drummed his fingers on the table. He supposed he might as well get a report or two done, so he picked out one and started on it. Barely five minutes later, the phone rang, making Arthur nearly jump out of his chair.

"Hello?" Arthur demanded, even now expecting the worst – one of Alfred's superiors telling Arthur that he had been killed, or fired for betraying state secrets –

"Hey Arthur," came the apologetic voice. "Sorry I'm late. I kinda lost track of time."

"Well, don't next time," Arthur snapped. He pressed a hand to his forehead and tried to calm down.

"Jeez, you don't have to overreact. It's not like the world's going to explode or anything." There was a sound of shuffling paper.

"Don't joke about that. When agents don't report on time, in my experience they're usually dead."

There was a silence on the other end of the line. "Oh," Alfred said quietly. "Um, I'm sorry. I won't be late again."

There was a pause that Arthur hoped would translate correctly as his thanks. He cleared his throat. "Do you have the next file?"

"Yeah, right here."

"Let's get to it, then."


	4. Choices

_Choices_

There was a secretary at the agency. Okay, there were a lot of secretaries at the agency, but this one was special – or at least, the vast majority of the men on Alfred's floor seemed to think so. Her name was Anne.

"Agent Jones, there's a call for you on line four."

"Thanks, sweetheart," he'd beam at her, and she would giggle and go back to her desk, her curls bouncing along with every step and her perfectly red lips curved into a smile. All the guys nearby would watch her leave and then give Alfred little looks. They liked her because she always called them "agent" like it was the best title in existence, and because she smiled at everyone, but she always sang Alfred's name. Alfred hadn't noticed for the first week or two, but pretended not to after that. Alfred was nice to girls and smiled at them because that was what you were supposed to do. He grinned at everyone anyway, so how was it really any different?

"Agent Jones?" she asked one day, but her voice was less confident than usual, and she said it like she couldn't see him sitting right there.

"Yes, miss Anne?" he said, wondering if something was wrong.

"Could you come here for a moment?"

He walked over to where she was standing by her desk, a piece of paper in her nervous fingers. She held it out to him. "Your boss left a message."

"Oh, thanks." He took the paper from her, but he hesitated. She looked as though there was something else.

She looked up at him, suddenly smiling, and he smiled back. "I was wondering if you were free sometime soon. I know you have a busy schedule, but I was thinking maybe we could . . . get some lunch? Or coffee, if you'd like." She was blushing, though not very much. Alfred stared at her, trying to understand what she was saying. It hit him and he felt awful. Anne was so nice.

"Oh, um, Anne, that's really nice of you, but–" He glanced over his shoulder at the room, noisy with typewriters and phones ringing, and knew that even though it didn't look like it, about half its occupants were listening. There wasn't anywhere to go, because neither of them had their own offices, but he really couldn't lie to her. "I really can't. I'm sorry. I'm not – I'm not interested." For an instant, she looked absolutely devastated. "Not – not that I'm not in _you,_" he tried, and why did these things have to be so difficult? "I'm just, um – Right now–" He was floundering and he knew it. "Actually, no. Just – ever." He pleaded with his eyes, trying to make her understand. She frowned a little, looked away, and then her forehead cleared with what might have been recognition.

She looked at him. "In . . . any of us?" she asked hesitantly.

His face burning, Alfred nodded. She smiled faintly, and that was how he effectively outed himself to his entire branch of the department.

In the months that followed, Alfred got a few lunch requests which he suspected were thinly-veiled requests for more than that, but because no one was very clear about it, Alfred brushed them off easily enough with a laugh or a smile, or by turning it into a group thing. People at work were nice, but Alfred hadn't found himself really noticing anyone. He didn't think much of it, but really, years after Anne and about a year after he started talking to Arthur, he shouldn't have been surprised that someone finally asked him out.

Dave was very nice, and Alfred had been working with him in a casual sort of way for about a year. He wrote a lot of the reports and was very good at it. He was also pretty good looking and Alfred found him attractive, sure, but somehow he had never thought of him that way. In retrospect, though, Alfred shouldn't have been as surprised as he was.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner," Dave asked in a way that was clearly meant to be casual but felt forced. They were alone in the cramped little kitchen where Alfred was currently fixing himself a cup of coffee.

"Like, tonight?" Alfred asked in surprise. "I can see if some of the guys are available, but it's kinda short notice . . ."

"I meant just us. Like a date." Dave shifted his weight awkwardly to the other foot.

Alfred looked at him and blinked. _You haven't been on a date in ages, _a part of his brain said, and Alfred would have been lying if he had said he wasn't tempted. Yet somehow, Alfred's thoughts slid to Arthur.

_You'd have to cancel your call with him to go out to dinner, _he realized, and Alfred realized that he really, really didn't want to do that.

"I'm sorry, but no thanks," Alfred said apologetically, and he meant it. He felt awful whenever he had to reject anyone. "It's nothing personal."

Dave shrugged, though he couldn't hide a look of disappointment. "I get it. Is there someone else?"

Alfred opened his mouth to say no, but then he hesitated. "Maybe," he admitted.

Dave smiled. "Well, good luck, I guess. See you around."

That evening, when Alfred checked in with Arthur as planned, Alfred realized that he didn't regret rejecting Dave in the least. When Arthur said, "Hello, Alfred," it felt like he was home.


	5. Lunch Outdoors on a Sunny Day

_Lunch Outdoors on a Sunny Day_

After everything, after all they had gone through, all the years of not knowing anything more than the simplest things they could pick up over the telephone, they were finally going out to lunch.

Alfred picked Arthur up at the hotel Arthur was staying at. At the time, it felt like one of the most nerve-wracking moments of Alfred's life. A few minutes after Alfred showed up, Arthur walked into the lobby wearing a suit as crisp as the one he had worn the day before. He looked surprised when he saw Alfred, as if he hadn't expected him to be there yet.

Alfred was twenty minutes early because he knew that Arthur would have hated it if he were late.

"Hey," Alfred said with a grin that he hoped didn't look too nervous.

"Hello."Arthur idly tugged on his cuffs as he eyed Alfred's more casual ensemble, a two-piece suit with the jacket unbuttoned and a simple tie. "Where to?"

"Oh, I was just thinking we could try this place across the street from the office. I go there sometimes with the guys. It's good food for your money, and they've got outdoor seating, so I figure we could enjoy the sun." Alfred had picked it because it didn't scream _date; _they could easily have simply been two coworkers out on their lunch break. Which they were. Looking at Arthur, though, he wondered if he should have gone all out. Arthur looked like he belonged somewhere expensive with a candle and roses on the table. (And oh, would Alfred have liked to to take Arthur on that date. He would have pulled out all the stops – champagne, a limo, the works. Not that he'd thought about it before, of course. Not at all.)

"That sounds perfect," Arthur said, and Alfred's doubts disappeared.

They walked because it wasn't far. Alfred easily fell into his playful, joking attitude and constant stream of talk, and Arthur responded with his dry sense of humor, just as he always had – but it was better, so infinitely better than it had been over the telephone. Alfred found he couldn't stop talking and looking at Arthur. He had adjusted so easily to Arthur's appearance it was as though he had always known that he looked that way, but Alfred still couldn't get over the fact that Arthur was really _there._

They got seated outside at Alfred's request, and ended up at a little table for two in a corner of the patio. The place was moderately busy, but it didn't feel like anyone was looking at them or close enough to eavesdrop. Then again, Alfred wasn't really paying attention to anyone else there.

"So tell me," Alfred said with a grin after the waiter had taken their order, leaning forward in his chair as though it were a vital secret, "Do you like long walks on the beach?"

Arthur scoffed as he spread out his napkin in his lap. "Alfred, don't be silly. I hate to ruin this image you clearly have of me, what with your idea about my favorite reading material" (Alfred snorted), "But I hardly fit some dating profile."

"You don't? 'Cuz I sure want to date you."

For a moment Arthur looked startled, but he quickly covered it up with a condescendingly amused expression. "Really, Alfred–"

"Really, Arthur." Alfred was leaning forward and smiling only slightly. "What do you say?"

Arthur dropped his gaze to his lap and found himself floundering. "What makes you think I'm interested?" Well, that was a stupid question. "What I mean to say is, don't you think that's a little abrupt? There's nothing wrong with a little subtlety, you know." He smoothed his napkin in his lap twice, stalling. "After all," he said, stumbling over the words because it wasn't true at all, "We barely know each other."

"You're about to leave on a plane and my superiors might order me to never see or speak to you again. I'm not going to miss out." Arthur met his eyes and Alfred's smile looked more hopeful than confident. "I've wanted to be friends with you since forever and I guess I didn't really feel like I could call you my friend unless we met in person, but now I feel like I already know you, you know? I don't want to ruin our friendship especially if it's just getting started, but I'm kind of done waiting." Alfred's smile softened. "I really like you, and I want to get to know you better. Will you give me a chance?"

Arthur found himself smiling faintly. "I'm afraid it would be more fair to ask you to give me a chance."

"Artie–"

Arthur shook his head. "You know this is an awful idea."

Alfred grinned. "Undoubtedly."

Arthur paused and pretended to weigh the pros and cons. His heart was beating far too fast and he knew that his calm façade was slipping, just a bit. He had imagined all this happening much more slowly, if at all. He met Alfred's eyes with a little smile. "I suppose we might as well give it a shot."

Alfred's grin widened more than Arthur had thought possible. "Awesome."

Arthur suddenly found it very hard to suppress his own smile, though he tried. "You do realize I will have to know everything about you." He looked up at Alfred from beneath his eyebrows. "And I _mean _everything."

"Oh yeah, I got it," Alfred said happily as their food arrived. "Full background check, I know the drill. How far back do you want it to go?" Arthur merely raised an eyebrow. Alfred laughed as he scooped up a forkful of food from his plate. "_Everything_, I know, I know. It'll be waiting for you on your desk when you back to England."

"It had better be," Arthur said as he delicately took a bite of his own meal. He cocked his head to one side. "You said you had waited long enough. How long have you been waiting, exactly?" There was a slight smirk in his lips.

Alfred looked a little surprised. "Uh, I don't know. I mean . . ." He looked at his food. "I guess I kind of got interested around, um, when we thought there was that nuke threat . . ."

Arthur stared at him. "Eight months?"

"After we met? Yeah, about." Alfred shrugged. "You just seemed really calm, you know? I was pretty impressed." Alfred perked up. "How about you?"

"Oh." Arthur looked away. "The Berlin job, I think."

"Hey, that was only like three months in! You're beating me." Alfred's mouth curved into a grin, but then the smile suddenly disappeared and his eyes widened. "Wait, by 'interested' did you think I meant found you interesting? Because I found you interesting on like–"

"The first day?"

Alfred paused and grinned. "Yeah."

Arthur smiled a little. "I know what you meant."

"Three months? Really? But that's so soon." Alfred frowned a little. "You weren't, like, flirty or anything, either . . ."

"I was doing my job!" Arthur snapped, a blush quickly rising on his cheeks. "Of course I wouldn't do anything unprofessional."

Alfred raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Uh-huh."

"What?" Arthur demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"I think you need to let loose a little," Alfred said. "You're always going on about these rules and things . . . though come to think of it, I guess you did break a couple for a particularly handsome agent." Alfred outright grinned.

Arthur's tutted and flicked a piece dirt off his suit jacket. "A good agent only breaks the rules when absolutely necessary. Really, Alfred, saving you was hardly unprofessional. You getting caught? Certainly."

Alfred pouted. "Hey."

"Speaking of which, this . . ." Arthur trailed off and gestured at the two of them.

Alfred smiled sadly. "Was a lunch between two friends. You don't need to ask, Artie. I know the drill."

They ate in silence for a moment. "I've never dated within the company before," Arthur said quietly.

"Me neither."

Arthur was surprised at that. "Really? No one was interested? I would have thought you'd be quite popular."

Alfred grinned. "I didn't say no one was _interested. _I mean, come on." He adjusted his glasses and gave Arthur a smoldering look. Arthur blushed and Alfred broke out into laughter. "Really? You are too easy!"

Arthur turned a shade darker. "Alfred, if you tease me as much as you did on the phone, I swear–"

"That? That was nothing!"

"It wasn't you . . . courting me, or whatever?" Arthur waved a hand embarrassedly in Alfred's general direction. Alfred dissolved into whoops of laughter. "Oh God," Arthur groaned, and placed a hand on his forehead in mock-despair, "This is what you're really like isn't it?"

"Sure is, sweetheart," Alfred said. Arthur looked up into grinning blue eyes. "You like it?"

"Why yes, I think I do." They smiled at each other for a moment. Arthur's face suddenly turned more thoughtful and he glanced at his watch. He nodded towards Alfred's nearly empty plate. "Should I call for the check?" Alfred's face fell and Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry, I'd love to stay longer, but I still need to get my things, get to the airport, go through security . . . I should have asked we meet earlier."

Alfred shook his head. "Don't worry about it. This worked out fine. At least I get to see you off before you leave for the airport." He grinned, but Arthur could see the disappointment hidden behind it. "Hey waiter! Check, please?"

Alfred avoided Arthur's eyes while they waited. He drank the last of his water and stared out at the street, or played with his napkin. They each paid their bills – separately, because this wasn't supposed to be a date and they knew how to cover their tracks. Alfred stood and stretched, and when Arthur stood up beside him, Alfred finally met his gaze. Alfred was smiling, but weakly, and Arthur could see every doubt of his own written in Alfred's blue eyes: _Are we ever going to see each other again? What if we're caught? Will be fired? Long distance? Is this too fast? Do we really know each other?_

_Can we do this?_

Arthur listened to his instinct. He took a deep breath, smiled, and with his eyes said, _Yes._

* * *

><p><em>Author's note <em>_**(Edit)**__: _This is the last chapter.


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